A room of my peers, telling me what I do and do not deserve. Do they know I have my headphones on? I respect you all so – I really do – but I am not listening. I will not.
After all this time, I have only memorized one song, slight of body and sweating in its repetition. “Say something different,” I dare it.
The lights are harsh. I ask for a glass of water. Everything feels so sickeningly familiar.
Standing in front of the firing squad, I can’t help but scrutinize back:
Who among them has stood inside the body of his expanse and cried “Echo”? They’ve whooped and hollered in canyons of their own, ones I could not possibly map if I tried, so why is their first response to discount where a soul in love has been?
We’ve all lapped at the air between sighs. All have stagnated in the aftermath of sprayed, salted insults. All have pleaded with a deaf god for a life back.
Friends, leave me my delusions. Let me paint his eyes on the backs of my own. Again.